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The Aduramis Chronicles Book Trailer – Official.

Get yours very own copy of The Aduramis Chronicles: The Definitive Collection at Smashwords, Kindle, iBooks, GoogleBooks and GooglePlay & all good stockists.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/838694

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Categories: General

My trip to Scotland.

I’ve recently visited Scotland on a tour of its highlands, and it’s most incredible beauty astounded me. For someone who lives in Northumberland, beauty is certainly not a rare commodity, but I was blown away by the magnitude of lochs and mountains.

Here’s a small handful of pics from my journey and to say I’ve taken inspiration from this diverse country is an understatement. My writing will forever be improved by this land of wonder.

Categories: General

A slight refresh of covers.

 

Some changes to indicate there is a difference from originals to prequels. The book title is on the lower portion of the cover for prequels.

Categories: General

GooglePlay & GoogleBooks

Heading your way at light speed is The Aduramis Chronicles, finally available via GooglePlay and GoogleBooks*

*Still available via Smashwords, iBooks, Kindle and all good book stockists. #GooglePlay #GoogleBooks #ebooks #fantasyfiction #BookBoost

Click here to go directly to the GooglePlay store

Categories: General

Brotherhood – Update 1

Progress on my fifth book, I don’t count The Definitive Collection as it’s a compilation of the first three Aduramis Chronicles, is going strong. I’m roughly 15,000 words in and already the world and its characters are really taking shape. This is a new direction for me, exploring new scenarios in a familiar world that happened before my original trilogy. I wanted to move away from prophecy this and prophecy that and focus again on character and how each individual was moulded by events. There will some big set pieces and the descriptions you come to love. But I must confess, a small element must be written to account for the prophecy of The Aduramis Chronicles. The Aduramis Scrolls, I feel, will be just as huge and when I get round to it, I will write a spin off for Hur’al Menin. Stay tuned for more, and don’t forget you can get your copy of any of my books via Amazon, iTunes, Smashwords and all leading books retailers. Thanks for stopping by.

Categories: Brotherhood, General

Brotherhood – Chapters 1 & 2 (Sneak Peek)

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| TO FATHER’S ANNOYANCE

 

Forked lightning flashed across the morning sky, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. The storm was finally waning after a night of tumultuous weather. Birds sheltered in a forest of ash trees, that surrounded Wulf Hall situated on the outskirts of Re’um, a sizeable town to the West of Westeroe. They clung to branches against a driving wind that threatened to tear terracotta tiles from the roofs of the collection of buildings nestled beneath the great hall.

Indoors, almost all residents were asleep, tucked up warm in their beds, indifferent to the storm.

A shaft of sunlight that had found an opening in the dark clouds stung Ædelmær’s bleary, sleep-filled eyes through a crack in a set of velvet drapes hanging from the only window in the room. It was early, he knew that much, and far too soon for him to rise. Today, however, he had planned a secret jaunt, a chance to mix with the townsfolk without his father, Lord Alarick Wulf, knowing.

Across the other side of the room, his older brother, Draken, lay snoring in his bed, fast asleep after a night of frivolity with the young womenfolk of the local village.

Draken was a good-looking young man of twenty, his long dark hair, straight and plentiful. His dark eyes fresh with youth and vigour. He was in stark contrast to Ædelmær, who at seventeen was brown haired with piercing blue eyes that shone like precious jewels in a midday sun. Unlike his brother, he had been gifted with a muscular frame, and this he used to his advantage, particularly against neighbouring village boys, with whom there was a constant rivalry.

Yesterday evening Draken and he had found themselves cornered by several of their peers for venturing too far from the village boundary. A show of strength and aggression ensued and ended with bloody noses and a broken wrist. The boys had all limped home, vowing to each other that the feud was far from over.

When Ædelmaer and Draken arrived home, their protector, a beady-eyed and pig-like man named Dungam was exceedingly angry with the pair and sent them to bed without supper.

A loud knock on the oak door to the room disturbed Ædelmær’s thoughts and he hopped from his cot, stiff and sore from yesterday’s brawl.

‘Come on, open up. I haven’t got all day.’

Ædelmær opened the door and nodded to Dungam with a sheepish grin.

‘I would quit smiling if I were you. Your father’s Chief Advisor has heard of your exploits yesterday and wants you brought before the court.’

‘What for?’ Draken called from inside the bedroom.

Dungam looked beyond Ædelmær and into the room. ‘I should think that would be obvious. Unseemly conduct unbecoming of your station. Now, get up, get dressed and I’ll see you downstairs, quick as you like.’

Draken cursed and threw aside his bedding before standing up with a stretch. ‘Those Malik boys will pay for this.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? You did break Zan’s wrist and burst Ru’ul’s nose.’

‘They had it coming.’

‘Yes, well, you certainly will have something coming to you soon enough. Downstairs, now!’ Dungam urged and marched away.

A short time later, both Ædelmær and Draken edged up to Dungam who waited at the bottom of the grand staircase.

He gripped the boys by the collars and marched them into the great hall, where Lord Wulf was holding counsel.

The hall, high and luxurious, gave off the air of privilege, befitting the Lord’s station.

Three storeys high, a balcony ran the circumference, held up by thick wooden pillars. Light streamed in windows high up and beamed through the smoky atmosphere to end in pools of warming sun.

Their minder pushed them forward through a crowd of people waiting for an audience with the court.

Day in and day out, Lord Wulf would tend to his courtly duties, listening to squabbles and disputes over land rights, who stole who’s pig, requests for farming rights and the like. Today was no exception. He alongside his privy council would judge each petitioner and make a decree that was final and binding.

Only that very morning, the council ruled in favour of the death sentence for a persistent thief. Too many chances to amend his way were awarded the poor soul previously, and even after losing both hands for his crimes, he still refused to abide by the law. He was taken out that morning and hung by the neck until dead.

Dungam marched the boys forward and into the presence of their father’s Chief Advisor, Meroop.

A sulky look greeted them from the steely-eyed Meroop. Large of stomach and short of arm, he crossed the latter and glared at them, awaiting the reason and following excuses why they had been dragged before him.

‘What is it now, Meroop? Lord Wulf growled tersely from his throne.

‘Forgive me, my Lord. The boys have once again brought this house into disrepute.’

‘How so?’

‘Fighting in the streets like common surfs, my Lord.’

‘Again, how many times is this now?’ Lord Wulf asked, ’Never mind, take them out and give them the lash. I just do not have time for this constant nonsense.’

Ædelmær’s insides froze at the thought of the lash, while Draken spat at his father. It was no secret that Lord Wulf and Draken had grown to despise one another. Their relationship had deteriorated seriously, and this meant that Ædelmær’s once happy relationship with his father was severely strained by association.

Lord Wulf roared with anger and stepped down from his podium and marched up to Draken. ’Spit at me, would you?’ Without warning, he slapped the young man hard across the face. Draken stood his ground with a deep scowl upon his face, defiant to the last.

Get them out of my sight.’ Lord Wulf ordered and strode away.

‘Yes, milord.’ Meroop nodded and turned to the boys. ‘Follow me and do not say a word.’

Ædelmær attempted to comfort his brother and found the aid shrugged off. Draken stormed ahead, followed by Meroop and Dungam. Ædelmær took up the rear and stopped briefly to look back at his father, hoping that he had changed his mind and was about to call them back, to tell them all was forgiven. It was not to be, Alarick Wulf was engrossed in his next petitioner’s story, a yawn signalling his boredom. Ædelmær gave up hope and resigned to his fate, ventured after his brother, ready to receive his punishment.

Outside, it poured, as it always seemed to in that part of Westeroe, and a distant rumble of thunder reminded everyone that the power of nature was ever present.

Gardeners, sodden and gloomy, watched the solemn group traipse through the gardens and into a large, wooden barn, half hidden by a grove of oak trees.

The barn smelled mostly of horses and straw. This made Ædelmær wish that he was riding Cyren, his dappled grey mare, instead of awaiting a flogging.

Meroop rounded on the boys and began to unfasten a thick leather belt from around his waistband. He planned to whip the unruly pair, that was until Dungam stepped between him and the two young men.

‘Out of my way.’ Meroop gestured angrily.

Dungam ignored the man. ‘As their protector, the duty falls to me to punish them.’

‘I think you’ll find that Lord Wulf instructed me to perform the deed.’ Meroop countered, with a smug air.

‘I have always applied discipline and will see this done also,’ Dungam replied. ‘Do you not have something better to do?’

Meroop snarled. ‘Perhaps if you had done a better job we wouldn’t be here now. I will carry out the Lord’s wishes.’ He raised his belt and brandished at Dungam. ‘Get out of my way or you’ll feel the lash.’

At that moment, a servant woman interrupted the proceedings, with a knock upon the barn door.

Dungam looked past Meroop. ‘What is it?’

The woman avoided eye contact and bowed her head slightly. ‘Forgive me, the Lord, he wants Advisor Meroop.

Dungam smirked and Meroop cursed. His one chance to teach the boys some manners lost. ‘I will be there presently,’ he shot Dungam a scowl. ‘You have your wish. See to the punishment.’

Without further word, a most disappointed Meroop left the barn in pursuit of the servant.

Dungam sighed in relief. ‘You two are fortunate indeed. A few more moments and he would have carried out your father’s wishes.’

Draken said nothing, he had a look of stoic resignation. Ædelmær, on the other hand, was puzzled. ‘Are you not going to punish us?’

Dungam sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t be much of a protector if I did. But know this, if you are ever brought before your father, I will not be able to protect you. Do you understand me?’

Ædelmær sighed with relief and nodded. ‘Surely father will know—’

‘Then you’ll have to pretend I did as your father requested, or it’ll be my neck on the block too.’

Draken looked to Ædelmær and nodded. ‘Very well.’

 

| SHADOWS & DAEMONS

 

The City of Khim on the Eastern shores of Westeroe, was known for its large seaport, famous for trading the vast majority of Rosthagaar’s goods. From here, textiles, livestock, precious metals and grains were imported and exported with such precision, that even church clock was set by the opening bell, signalling that trading had begun in the House of Commerce.

The city was well fortified, built high upon the cliffs overlooking the vast port. High towers that stretched from the city to the port, held a pulley system of cabling and ropes that were used to ferry goods back and forth in moderately sized cages. A high wall surrounded the settlement, protecting it from the worst of the frequent inclement weather. Made partly from a unique blue stone, it was many times stronger than normal rock and only found on the easternmost edges of the continent. Expensive, as it was to mine and shape, only the sections facing the sea were constructed of the material. The rest was of a sandstone that weathered more naturally.

The city itself was made up of wealthy merchants in the suburbs and local sellers homes towards the middle. It was an affluent conurbation, with tall, multi-storey homes and glass-fronted stores. Green spaces were plentiful and spread over huge swathes of land. There was little crime, due to the exceedingly efficient city guard and harsh, but fair justice system provided by the religious order, The Brotherhood of The Wulf and its military arm, the Order of The Wulf. With no overall leader, and instead, a Minister of Economics, to oversee ministrations of the city, Khim was the only municipality that truly embraced the support of The Brotherhood. It was after all in the cities best interest to have the very best protection available, and there was no better fighting force than they. Although, the Elves of Astanoth would disagree, and often did.

In the centre of the sprawling city, a vast red-bricked building named the House of Commerce was the principal marketplace where goods were bought and sold, auctioned and bartered. It hailed a great glass roof that looked down upon stalls and stores, small warehousing, and livestock pens. A secure vault that held takings and deeds was guarded in an upper room, in the Western section.

All was quiet now, in the dead of night. A handful of guards patrolled the exterior, guarding what stock and takings remained overnight.

A shadowy figure watched the movement of the guard from high upon the buildings clock tower. Arnam Foxtail was an accomplished thief. Able to scale any building, open just about any lock, and disappear without a trace, all with relative ease.

Since childhood he had accompanied his father on many of his own heists, learning the secrets of stealth and cunning. That was until his father died. For several years afterwards, he plied his trade with little success, until the day he met a sorceress by the name of Tamra Lyron, who, as it happened, possessed a rather unique skill. She was able to conjure any daemon of her choosing and provide Arnam with a distraction should he require it. For years they worked happily together, Arnam stealing and Tamra who provided the distractions.

Tamra seemed to like the idea of the undead and always near where a robbery had occurred, some form of spectral corpse would appear in one home or another, terrifying all those in its vicinity. This left Arnam to scale a building and to strip it bare of valuables.

Due to the security surrounding the House of Commerce, Arnam had enlisted Tamra’s help. However, they knew full well that the spectral corpse was well known as a distraction technique, and people had become wise of late, so Tamra had come up with a new daemon, one which she would conjure tonight if required.

Arnam, was just twenty-two years old, agile with a strong upper body and broad shoulders. He kept his fawn coloured hair short and wore a black mask that covered all but his grey eyes. He wore fingerless leather gloves, well-worn and loved.

Tonight, was particularly cold and so he wore an extra layer over his usual leather outer clothes, a dark cloak and cowl. Atop the tower, to him, the guards were mere ants, small and insignificant against the vast riches that waited for him below. As usual, he would raid a building and if there was an immediate threat of being discovered, Tamra would conjure her daemon, hopefully giving Arnam a chance to escape with the loot.

All in all, there were seven talented individuals in his band of thieves, each held a different expertise, that he utilised as needed. Tonight, though, it was just Tamra and he.

The sorceress stood hidden in the shadows of a foul-smelling alleyway, detritus and the odd dog dropping littered the ground. The damp and dark alleyway faced the target building from across a wide market square, only a little light penetrating the opening from gas lamps dotted around the pathways. Somewhere close by a cat fight had begun and disturbed the otherwise peaceful night.

Tamra was a beautiful young woman, red-headed with blue-flecked green eyes and more than a few freckles. She had grown through her young childhood happily until an accident killed her only living relative, Aunt Merl. A sad day indeed, and one that saw her taken to a workhouse to be raised by the state.

Her life was far from idyllic, with cramped and damp conditions, where residents of the workhouse had been crammed four to a bed. The food had also been unpalatable, consisting mostly of cabbage stews. Lucky were they if they’d received the odd bread roll or slice of pork on Saint Milda’s Day. Days were spent working in a local mine to pay for their board and lodging. The only relief coming mid-week, which was left for study, according to their individual strengths. This tutelage was provided by an anonymous benefactor, who’s only wish was that particularly gifted children be nurtured and sent to train in their skills in the Royal College of Gan’il. Quickly, it had been discovered that Tamra’s skill was conjuring and sorcery, so she spent this time being instructed in this art. Like others before her, she was sent to The Royal College, though, as much as she tried, she could not settle and so one night vanished of her own accord, never to be seen in Gan’il again. She had, however, gotten so good at summoning spirit daemons, that one day, quite by accident, she summoned a tiny green dragon, and, to her surprise, found that she was unable to unsummon the creature. Ever since that day, the animal had decided to stay with her as her constant companion, never once straying and often her voice of wisdom.

The daemon flitted from one shoulder to another, distracting her. ‘Please, Kayda, behave yourself. I must concentrate.’

‘This is a very bad idea. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, bad things happen to bad people.’ Kayda, the teeny dragon spoke between small puffs of smoke from his nostrils and a fiery breath. He zoomed around her head wagging a claw at her.

‘And I’ve told you, I’m not a bad person. I need to survive, somehow.’ Tamra countered.

‘Find honest work you must, or this will be your downfall.’ The daemon squeaked.

‘What do you know?’ Tamra questioned and watched Arnam begin to climb nimbly down the clock tower. ‘You’ve never had to work a minute of your life.’

Kayda stopped briefly in front of Tamra, blocking her view. ‘I work every day, telling you to stop doing silly things, but you never listen. That is hard work, Tamra.’ Kayda replied and flapped away.

Tamra shook her head at the pestering dragon and checked the guards at the main entrance to the House of Commerce had not heard or spotted Arnam.

Arnam stepped quietly from roof tile to roof tile until he was close to a predetermined glass section of roof. Kneeling, he looked over the edge into the darkness below. Good, there’s no light, he thought.

He reached inside his shirt and removed a coin purse that was tied around his neck with hide cord and extracted a silver ring. He slipped the piece of jewellery onto his middle finger, turning it so that a small diamond was facing the underside of his hand. From one of the many pockets of his doublet, he withdrew a ball of wax and a bale of cord.

Next, from a small pouch on his belt, he set up a three-legged crucible into which he deposited the ball of wax. Underneath, he unscrewed a lid from an oil reservoir and lit a wick with a striker and waited for the resulting flame to melt the wax.

He carefully reached out and cut the glass with the diamond ring in a circular pattern. Before long, the wax had melted to his liking and he set about coating ends of pre-cut cord in wax and applying them to the glass pane opposite him, to then attach them to a spike driven under a roof tile. After he had covered a large enough area, he used tongs to pour more wax onto each cord end and waited for the wax to solidify.

After a time, he tapped the glass repeatedly with the back of an awl. For one heart-stopping moment, the circular glass panel fell, to be arrested by the waxen cords. Arnam blew hard in relief that the glass held. It swung there lightly. He leant over and stuck his head through the hole in the glass and through the gloom spotted an iron walkway he had seen that morning during his reconnaissance of the building. It ran fairly close to the roof and afforded him safe entry.

He extinguished the flame of his crucible and retrieved the end of a rope that he had wound around a weather vane and dropped it into the darkness of the hole.

Carefully he balanced above the hole that he had cut, ensuring his footing was planted securely on iron beams separating the panes of glass. He had cut the glass close enough to the edge that his rope would not cause more glass to break free or his rope to cut. Without a second thought, he lowered himself through the hole and dangled there just above the walkway. It wasn’t too much effort to clamber down the rope and land softly upon the catwalk.

He breathed easier now, satisfied with his work and checked his bearings. Two flights down and to the west side, his next target awaited. Listening for signs of movement or that he’d been heard, he removed his cloak, before hanging it over the barrier between him and a very severe fall. He moved on and crept slowly along the gangway.

Outside, Tamra smiled happily. Arnam had made it inside without raising the alarm. Now all she had to do was create a diversion if required.

The House of Commerce was an eerie place at night. It cracked and creaked as the structure cooled from the heat of the day. Animals in their pens snored, grunted and bayed which thankfully covered Arnam’s footfalls. After a short time, he arrived at the first set of steps, and so down he crept until he reached the uppermost storey. The circumference of this section held a balcony leading to thick iron-plated doors that protected rooms beyond, from which wealthier merchants administered their trade. Arnam wasn’t interested in these rooms, he was looking for the secure vault, one floor down which he could see clearly over an iron railing preventing him falling to his death to the pens further down. An underworld contact had informed him of the layout and the security of this room. Weeks of planning had led up to this moment, the biggest robbery yet was in his grasp, one that would sustain him and his brigands for life.

He knew from secret sources that worked at a high level within the House of Commerce that the takings would be the highest of the season. To maximise his haul, now was the time to strike. He was no fool, there was little chance of him hauling several carts of gold from the vault. No, he had planned for everything. His contact had arranged for a room to be cleared of almost all goods. Arnam would wheel the loot into this room and disguise the haul behind a row of goods. To anyone looking it would appear that the room held nothing but stock.

Once the hunt for the burglars had died down, Arnam and crew would spend several days slowly extricating the gold, inside innocuous items. The plan was perfect.

Like a shadow he moved silently around the circumference of the space, avoiding the edge of the balcony so as to not be seen, should a stray guard pass by. He continued until he came to the far end of the west wall. The last door to his left opened easily and only at the last moment did it creak horridly. He stiffened, awaiting a warning cry of intruder. Thankfully none came, and he continued on his way, down a new set of steps. To his chagrin, each step creaked and with every footfall, his heard pounded. Though, this was the thrill that excited him, a rush of adrenaline-fuelled his exhilaration.

At the bottom, he again opened a stairwell door and peered beyond. With the immediate area clear, he ventured forward onto the balcony. Despite a moon casting its light through the glass roof, there was sufficient cover to vanish by keeping low and to the shadows. The balcony was bland, with light coloured plaster daubing the walls. A wooden bench here and there, the only furniture of significance. Oil lamps, long extinguished, hung from posts set into the iron railing.

On the opposite side of the drop to the ground floor, the vault looked enticing if not a little daunting. Arnam had only cracked such a vault once before, and that had taken almost three hours. The draw of wealth was too much to give up now. Besides, people were relying on him. He may have been a thief, but he had principles, such as caring for the welfare of his band of men and women.

A quick walk later, he had skirted the circumference of the balcony and faced his next task.

The vault was made from two-inch-thick steel, very costly and exceedingly difficult to make. Only one place on Er’ath made such incredible doors and that was a small dwarven forge on the Northern Borders. Fortunately for Arnam, he had snuck inside the forge one night many years ago and secured copies of the plans that aided him to defeat the security of the door. Last time it took three hours, he hoped, this time, that it would take minutes. There was much to accomplish before sunup.

The door was hinged in three places along the left-hand edge and opened outward. A crank handle was used to turn the giant locking bolts, though this had been removed and secured elsewhere, unknown to him. Aside from the handle, which he himself had cast an iron facsimile, three deadlock keyholes needed to be picked. And this was where Arnam excelled. Picking locks was his favourite pastime, often performing the act just to keep his hand in.

He knew the door of the vault wasn’t the most secure in the land, he had yet to crack that prize. The Castle of Mu’lle, on the road Southwest of Khim, held the most secure vault known and he had tried several unsuccessful attempts to crack it. Every year, he would venture that way, just to try. He wasn’t concerned with the contents now; the prize was the cracking of the uncrackable.

Imposing as the door was, Arnam knew its secrets. In order to successfully pick its locks, you needed to pick first the upper and then the lower locks, then insert the crank into its respective slot before attempting to pick the central lock. Failure to do it in that particular order would cause the locks to reset.

Arnam withdrew a small leather pouch from which he extracted two long picks, a diamond and a ball. He also took out a tension wrench and gripped the ball pick between his teeth. Inserting the tension wrench into the upper lock keyway, he applied a little pressure, enough for him to feel the lock shift ever so slightly. Too much pressure would cause the pins inside the lock to bind and not slide easily into their receptacles, thus preventing the lock from being picked.

Next, he slid his diamond pick inside the keyway and felt gently for each pin in turn, softly tapping each until he felt the slightest of movements and he knew he had successfully seated a pin. He would move on pin by pin, slowly and surely.

The tiniest tap of his pick was the only sound he could hear as he placed his ear against the cold steel of the door. With a deft and sure turn of his nimble fingers, the first lock opened. Arnam was ecstatic, he’d beaten his time for picking a lock, and one with a high degree of difficulty, unlike those in Rostha, with crude, ancient locks. The townships of Arromithia, in particular, had not moved with the times like most of Westeroe or The New World, and thus held no draw for him.

Listening for signs of unwanted guests, namely a guard or two, he continued and swiftly cleared the second lock after which he inserted the crank handle into the required slot.  To his astonishment, when attempting to pick the last lock, he found it to be unlocked. His heart quickened in anticipation and his hands shook as he replaced his picks into the leather pouch and secreted them on his person.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out before turning the crank handle. With mechanical clicks and a sliding of bolts, the door opened up an inch, into which he was able to slide his fingers and pull the heavy door open. It moved silently on large greased hinges, thicker than his thigh, and within seconds, he was staring into the darkness of the vault. He had done it and he was overjoyed.

Kayda, the miniscule daemon dragon, had been watching keenly from high above and swooped down silently to land on Arnam’s shoulder. Arnam jumped in the air with fright and almost yelled, a hand clasping his open mouth to stop himself from doing just that.

Dropping his hand, Arnam whispered, ‘don’t do that.’

If dragons could smile, surely the wide open-mouthed expression Kayda held was indeed humour. ‘Sorry,’ he hissed.

‘Tell Tamra that I am in the vault and the next she see’s me I’ll be making my escape.’

Kayda rose on silent wings. ‘See you soon,’ he said and flew away.

His fright now forgotten, Arnam ventured inside the vault, stepping over the threshold. To his right, he could just make out an oil lamp and set about lighting it.

Before long, a flickering orange light lit the scene before him, and what a sight it was to behold. Stacked in neat piles, gold bars, and coins beyond measure. Racks, made from beech laden with deeds and documents, containing bills of sale and ownership of land or property. A treasure trove beyond measure.

Arnam rubbed his hands together in glee and stepped into the vault. The moment he did so, a bell began to peal a warning. He’d inadvertently triggered an alarm of some kind, perhaps magic. With no time to spare, he grabbed a bar of gold and humped it and himself out of the vault. He raced along the balcony and then slid to a stop. He had run directly into the path of two armed guards who had been stationed inside one of the many rooms further along the balcony. They had raced out of the room, almost tripping over one another in their haste. Each brandished a sword and cursed when they saw the intruder.

Arnam found his legs and whirled around before racing away at full tilt.

‘’ere, you, stop!’

Arnam ignored the guard and instead threw the gold bar behind him. It landed with a dull thud and tripped the guard. The other stopped momentarily to helps his colleague and together they chased after Arnam.

Arman managed a smile. He’d given himself a head start and what he did next surprised the guards further. Without stopping he aimed for the balcony balustrade and in one leap landed deftly on the rail, before leaping a second time into the air.

 

To be continued …

Copyright 2018  – Harrison Davies

Categories: Bookshelf, Brotherhood

Official book cover release.

Book four The Aduramis Chronicles: Brotherhood.

Categories: General
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